


Ten of Sabres

by CelticKnot



Series: Sabacc Shift [2]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst and Feels, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, DreamWidth Prompt, Gen, Into A Bar Challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:36:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticKnot/pseuds/CelticKnot
Summary: Written (well, begun) for the 2018 Into A Bar Ficathon. Prompt: Thane Krios walks into a bar and meets... Han Solo!AU for both Star Wars (though sticking to Legends lore) and Mass Effect. Thane Krios is an assassin in the Outer Rim Territories. When he runs afoul of Jabba the Hutt, he turns to the closest thing he has to a friend: the smuggler Han Solo.





	1. The Evil One

**Author's Note:**

> Though the names of the different alien species in Mass Effect are not capitalized in the games, this fic will be set in the Star Wars universe, which does capitalize species names. Therefore, "Drell" and "Hanar" will be capitalized wherever they appear.
> 
> I initially intended this to be a one-shot. It got... out of hand. Quickly.

"When the Evil One appears in a reading, he signifies entrapment. There may be no escape. Violence, anger, fear, temptation—any or all of these may plague you at this moment. Only by staying true to yourself and your ideals will you overcome him."  
—Lunira, _The Sacred Jhabacc: Foretelling the Future_

* * *

_My hands are bound, my head fuzzy. Blood trickles into my eyes. The guard’s fingers dig painfully into my arm as he jerks me forward. I stumble, dizzied by my injuries and the stench of this place. It reeks of sweat and grease and sex and death. It’s all I can do not to vomit._

_How in Amonkira’s name have I gotten myself into this mess? I’m better than this. How could I have walked into such an obvious trap?_

_I’m brought before my captor’s throne, yanked to a halt directly atop what I know to be a trap door. He taunts me, gloating over how he’s broken me. Perched by his shoulder, his pet monkey-lizard screeches with laughter, a shrill, mocking sound that scrapes at my already shattered nerves until my fingers twitch with the overwhelming desire to strangle the repulsive creature. The entire court joins in, their cackling beating at me, drowning me._

_I pull at my restraints to no avail, and the assembled crowd finds this even more amusing. “What do you want of me?” I finally snarl. My self-control, my discipline, has nearly deserted me. I find I don’t particularly care._

_My captor’s thick, gluey voice booms throughout the chamber as he reveals what he would have me do. I can only stand there, stunned, as the laughter of the court crashes over me in waves._

_With no other choice, I agree to his terms, and he orders my bonds removed. His mistake. The instant my hands are free, I snap the neck of one guard, snatch his blaster from its holster, and shoot the other dead before the first body hits the floor. I turn the gun on my captor._

_But he remains unmoved, blinking languidly at me as he speaks into the comlink clutched in his absurdly tiny hand. “Kill the boy.”_

_The words are like a knife to my gut. “No!” I cry. I drop the blaster and fall to my knees._

_Laughter. Laughter fraying the last threads of my sanity. Tears spill down my face, and I do not care who sees._

* * *

“I know, Chewie. It’s not like him to be late.”

Chewbacca growled anxiously.

“Yeah, I hope so, too.”

Han Solo glanced around the cantina, trying to look casual. Showing nervousness in Mos Eisley was just asking to get jumped. But the message he’d gotten from his contact, asking to meet him here, had been less than reassuring. And after going dark for as long as he had… Han’s hand drifted down toward his blaster as he scanned the room again.

The cantina was, as usual, dim, crowded, noisy, and smelly. In the far corner, Figrin D’an and the Modal Nodes wailed away on “Mad About You” for what must have been the eighth time that evening—something in old Figrin’s face made Han suspect he was going to stop taking requests before much longer. At the bar, Wuher swept a couple of glasses out of the way as pair of brawling Twi’leks slammed into the countertop, lekku flailing. The other patrons just let them fight it out.

When one finally drew a blaster, the sound of the shot momentarily startled the cantina into silence. But it only lasted a moment before Figrin struck up the band again. The surviving brawler grudgingly tipped Wuher to compensate for the mess, and unceremoniously dragged the corpse out the door. Business as usual at Chalmun’s.

“Captain Solo. Thank you for meeting me here.”

Han jumped, and his own blaster was in his hand a split second before he recognized his contact sitting across the table from him. “Damn it, Krios! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” he snarled.  
  
“My apologies. In a profession such as mine, a certain stealth becomes… habitual.” Thane dipped his head, ever the gentleman. He stood out here, and not just because he was the only Drell in the joint. Everything about him—the way he moved, the way he spoke, even the way he dressed—usually exuded an easy grace that would have been more at home in the upper levels of Coruscant than a seedy dive like this. He looked up at Chewie. “Hello, Chewbacca. It is good to see you again.” His voice was strained, his smile wan but genuine.

Growling, Chewie stood and stomped around the table to tower over Thane, who calmly maintained eye contact, brow ridge raised. They just stared at each other for a moment, Chewie looking menacing and Thane utterly unmoved, until Chewie suddenly yanked him out of his seat and into a crushing hug, warbling an enthusiastic greeting.

Han had to smile. The big lug had always liked Thane.

Though being smothered in Wookiee affection clearly made him uncomfortable, Thane endured Chewie’s hearty embrace for a few moments before gently but firmly extricating himself. He coughed once and straightened his jacket as he reclaimed his seat, pulling his dignity around him like a cloak. He didn’t speak for a long moment, seeming to gather his thoughts before getting down to business.

Han took the opportunity to study him. He’d worked with Thane fairly often in the past, passing him any information he had on whichever scumbag the assassin was hunting at the time, giving him a lift now and then, even occasionally smuggling him into and out of places he couldn’t infiltrate on his own. In return, Thane would send him any jobs his targets left unfinished. He was unfailingly polite, professional, and he paid handsomely. But he never spoke of anything personal, always keeping an emotional distance that sometimes made Han wonder if he ever felt anything at all.

And that was fine. Despite Chewie’s exuberance, they weren’t exactly friends. What relationship they had could at best be described as a mutually beneficial partnership. Two career criminals with a solid respect for each other’s skills and a willingness to pay for each other’s services.

On the occasions that he’d hitched a ride aboard the _Millennium Falcon,_ Thane had mostly kept to himself, preferring to spend his time reading, meditating, or meticulously cleaning his weapons. He’d always maintained an air of quiet competence, a deliberate serenity, that seemed utterly impenetrable. He never even seemed to be in a hurry, let alone upset by anything.

But today… something had rattled his cage severely, that much was obvious. He stared down at his hands, clasped so tightly on the tabletop they actually trembled. His jaw clenched, and his inner eyelids blinked rapidly. His usual cold confidence had entirely deserted him, and Han had the uneasy feeling he was getting his first real glimpse of the man behind the mask.

“Krios…” Han glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then leaned forward across the table, pitching his voice low. “You okay, buddy? You don’t look so good.”

Thane drew a deep, unsteady breath. “Captain Solo… I require your assistance in a… a personal matter,” he said stiffly. He still didn’t make eye contact, setting off even more alarm bells in Han’s head.

“I get the feeling you’re lookin’ for more than intel and a ride, this time.”

“Indeed. And you will be compensated accordingly, of course.” Thane swallowed hard. “Forgive me, this is not an easy thing to ask.” He spread his hands flat on the tabletop as if bracing himself. “You are aware that I was trained under my people’s Compact with the Hanar, and that I left the service more than ten years ago. What I have not told you is why.”

“I bet I can guess. A woman.” Han sat back, a crooked smile spreading over his face. “Am I right? It’s always a woman.”

“A goddess among mortals,” Thane agreed. “I met Irikah when she stopped me from completing a contract. She saw my targeting laser and stepped in front of it, glaring back into my scope, _how dare you._ Her bravery and selflessness captivated me, and I—” He stopped abruptly, his eyes losing focus for a moment before he shook his head once, sharply. “I won’t go into the details. Suffice it to say, I pursued her, we fell in love, and I left the Compact so we could be married. Our son, Kolyat, was born not long after.”

Han grinned. “I never had you pegged for a family man, Krios. Good for you.”

But the way Thane’s entire body tensed, his hands curling into fists, made him regret his words immediately. “I took great pains to keep my work from putting them in danger,” Thane ground out, his voice full of barely restrained guilt and pain. “But I failed.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Han asked, “What happened?”

Thane hesitated. “I took a contract on a gang of Gamorrean slavers here on Tatooine,” he said finally. “My employer only specified their leaders as my targets, so I left the underlings alive. However, I would find out later—too late—that they had been working for a… mutual acquaintance of ours. One Jabba Desilijic Tiure.” He hissed the name as if it were a curse.

Han swore. Jabba the Hutt was the last person anyone in the Outer Rim wanted to piss off.

Nodding once, Thane continued, “I don’t know how he found them, but Jabba sent more of his men after my family. He meant to capture them both, but… the fiery spirit I loved so much in Irikah was her undoing.” He bowed his head, his next words barely audible over the din of the cantina. “She fought back, and they killed her. And now… now Jabba has my son.”

Chewie snarled in sympathetic fury, one hairy fist slamming into the tabletop and making the cups rattle.

“I went to his palace alone to rescue Kolyat,” Thane said. He closed his eyes, and all the tension drained out of him, as if he hadn’t the will to sustain it any longer. He looked suddenly exhausted. Defeated. “But Jabba was expecting me, having anticipated that I would attempt exactly that, and I soon found myself dragged before his throne. There, he promised to release my son to me—if I completed a contract for him.”

“A contract?” Han leaned forward again, dread knotting in the pit of his stomach. “Who does Jabba want you to kill?”

Now Thane did meet his gaze, and there was something dark and desperate in his eyes that made Han suppress a shudder. “You.”


	2. Two of Staves

“The Two of Staves indicates the formation of alliances. A mutually beneficial partnership will reap the rewards fairly due. But those who seek to profit at the expense of others will find what little they have taken away.”  
—Lunira, _The Sacred Jhabacc: Foretelling the Future_

* * *

Chewie roared in rage and betrayal, drawing curious stares from some of the cantina’s other denizens eager to see another fight. But Han grabbed his elbow to hold him back, never taking his eyes off Thane even as adrenaline flooded his system, twisting his stomach into knots and urging him to run. _“Me?”_ he demanded, the word coming out on an incredulous laugh. “I thought you said you needed my help!”

“I do, I…” Thane sighed heavily. “Captain Solo, I’ve no intention of killing you.”

“Oh, really?” Han folded his arms and eyed Thane critically. The significance of those words was not lost on him—Thane Krios _never_ failed to complete a contract. But he also wasn’t above using deception to get close to his mark. He was a talented actor. Han wanted to believe he was telling the truth, but he’d seen the assassin in action enough to be suspicious, and it made him feel vaguely sick. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re on my side, here,” he said dryly. “But… this is your _son._ He obviously means a hell of a lot more to you than I do. Why _not_ just kill me?”

Chewie let out an alarmed grunt, but Han held up a hand to silence him.

Thane bowed his head, as if ashamed. “I tried.” He looked up at Han, but not at Han—his gaze was distant, unfocused, and his voice grew haunted as he spoke. _“Roof tiles hot from the suns. Sounds of the spaceport float up from below. I spot the Wookiee first; beside him, my target. I cannot allow myself to use their names, not now. I steel myself to fire._

 _“Laser dot dances wildly on his skull. My hands tremble. He turns around, doesn’t see me. But suddenly, I see_ her. _Sunset-colored eyes defiant in the scope._ How dare you, _she mouths._

“To save our son, _I reply, pleading with the ghost. An artifact of my own mind, but no less vivid for it._ Please, you must understand!

_“She does not relent. I do.”_

Thane shook his head as he pulled himself back to the present. “Arashu, forgive me,” he murmured.

Han scoffed. “‘Arashu, forgive me,’ he says,” he grumbled to Chewie. Glaring at Thane, he demanded, “For what, Krios? Trying? Or failing?”

“I…” Thane looked faintly surprised by the question. “I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Han drawled sarcastically. “So what _do_ you want?”

Thane finally seemed to pull himself together a bit, the old familiar mask slipping back into place. “I mean to rescue Kolyat,” he declared. “Clearly, I cannot accomplish this on my own, but together, we may stand a chance. And I’m prepared to pay you, as I said—twenty thousand, up front.”

Han raised his eyebrows. “Up front?” It was definitely tempting—twenty thousand could make a lot of his problems go away right about now. But there was a distinct whiff of too-good-to-be-true about it. His standing arrangement with Thane had always been payment _after_ the job was done. For him to offer the money now, and so much of it, said a lot about his estimation of their odds of success. “You expecting this thing to go sideways?”

“No,” Thane said slowly, “just preparing, should… should the worst come to pass.”

“Uh-huh.” Not entirely convinced, Han asked, “And if you do die on this little expedition, what happens to Kolyat then?”

Unfazed by the question, Thane answered immediately, “In that eventuality, I would ask that you take him to Kahje—he has family there, in Masav Nyahir. The twenty thousand should be more than enough to cover his passage.”

“And what if we fail?” Han pressed. “What if neither of us gets out? Krios, you gotta know that if Jabba’s got no more use for your boy… he’ll kill him.”

Thane closed his eyes. “Then I will meet him across the sea,” he said softly, his voice thick with barely suppressed emotion, “and pray he can forgive me.” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “This mission is not without risk,” he acknowledged, “but I would deem no cost too dear to save my son. Will you help me, Captain?”

Twenty thousand was very tempting, indeed. But Jabba the Hutt was not someone you wanted to play games with. Han highly doubted rescuing the boy was feasible, and all the money in the galaxy would do him no good in the belly of the Sarlacc. Besides, he had his own troubles to worry about. “Look, Krios, I’m sorry about your kid, I really am,” he said. “But I can’t help you. If Jabba’s sent you after me, I can guarantee you there’s others. Assassins, bounty hunters—every lowlife in the Outer Rim is gonna be hunting me. Uh, no offense.”

“None taken,” Thane replied, and Han could hear the resignation in his voice, the flat tones of dashed hope.

But he didn’t let it move him. Couldn’t let it move him. “I’ve got a price on my head, now,” he said. “The best place for me to go is the other side of the galaxy, not waltzing right into Jabba’s palace. So if there’s any other way I can help, let me know, but I ain’t doin’ this. C’mon, Chewie, let’s go.”

Chewie growled a protest.

“I said no,” Han snapped at him. “We gotta blow this joint, buddy, or we’re as good as dead.”

Chewie woofed a mournful and heartfelt apology to Thane, which Han did his best to ignore as he left the cantina and emerged into the harsh sunlight of Tatooine.

* * *

_Arashu, forgive me,_ Thane prayed, over and over. _Arashu, forgive me. Irikah, I beg you, forgive me._

Despite what he’d told Captain Solo, he knew exactly what he asked forgiveness for. But it wasn’t for any attempt on Solo’s life, nor for any failure to do so. It was for the lie.

It was for fabricating the entire “memory” and passing it off as a flashback—a performance that might not have convinced another Drell, but was certainly adequate to make a human believe. It was for deliberately using Irikah to attempt to gain Solo’s sympathy. It was for trying to draw him in by deception, using his own very real grief to make his ploy believable.

Even his dismay at Solo’s refusal had been affected. The man was not as callous as he tried to let on; his feigned self-centeredness was how he survived in the Outer Rim Territories. But he had more compassion than he cared to admit. And Chewbacca, who so often served as Solo’s conscience, would certainly wear him down. Thane had no doubt he’d not seen the last of them.

As for the _purpose_ of his deception, though, the real reason he needed Captain Solo—he didn’t dare ask forgiveness for that. There could be no absolution for what he meant to do. He would drown in the Depths for it, without a doubt. But for Kolyat’s sake, he would gladly brave the wrath of Kalahira Herself.

* * *

The doors into Docking Bay 94 opened on Jabba’s booming voice. “Solo!” he was bellowing toward the _Falcon_ ’s open ramp. “Come out here, Solo! I know you’re in there! Solo!”

Han froze, wondering for an instant if Jabba had finally decided to dispense with his thugs and kill him in person. But that wasn’t too likely—getting his hands dirty wasn’t his style. So Han leaned against the door frame, adopting a casual slouch that belied his racing heart, and called out, “Over here, Jabba. I’ve been lookin’ for you.”

Jabba turned around, a fake-friendly grin spreading across his wide, fleshy face as Han approached. “Han, my boy!” he greeted him in gelatinous Huttese. Jabba had the kind of voice that could make you seasick just listening. “We have business to discuss.”

“Oh, we do, do we?” Han shot back, stopping a few paces away and folding his arms. “Rumor has it you put a price on my head. And you sent _Thane Krios_ to collect.” He let a hint of betrayal and wounded pride seep into his voice, as if his greatest concern was Jabba’s lack of trust in him. “Bringin’ out the big guns, huh?”

Jabba spread his arms in a noncommittal gesture. “Nothing personal, my boy,” he replied evenly, “but I’m afraid I have to make an example of you. What would I do if everyone who smuggled for me dropped their cargo at the first sign of an Imperial cruiser?”

This again. Han gritted his teeth in annoyance. “Look, Jabba, even I get boarded sometimes. You think I had a choice?” he bit out. “I’ll get you the money. With interest, I promise. I just need a little more time, that’s all. So just… call off your goons, all right?”

Narrowing his eyes, Jabba studied Han for a moment, considering. “Fine,” he said. “For an extra twenty percent—”

“Fifteen, Jabba,” Han interrupted. “Don’t push it.”

Jabba nodded agreeably. “Okay, fifteen percent. I’ll cancel the contract.”

“Great.” Feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders, Han started up the ramp into the _Falcon._ “Jabba, you’re a wonderful—”

 _“After_ you pay me.”

Han halted in his tracks. “After?” He let out an incredulous laugh, but all of Jabba’s good humor was gone. “How am I supposed to get your money with assassins on my tail?”

“Figure it out,” said Jabba, already on his way out the door. “Quickly.”

Han watched, slack-jawed, as he left, then turned to Chewie. “Let’s get outta here, pal. Right now.”

But Chewie didn’t move, instead folding his arms and tilting his head.

“Chewie, c’mon.”

Chewie growled.

“I said we’re leaving!” Han pushed past him toward the ship.

Shaking his shaggy head, Chewie rumbled a suggestion.

Han turned around and stuck a finger in Chewie’s face. “No.”

Chewie rumbled again, more insistently.

“Friend? He’s not our _friend,_ Chewie. You heard him back there—the only reason he didn’t pull that trigger is because of a… a hallucination!” Han’s hand knifed through the air between them in an emphatic gesture. “We don’t owe him _anything._ And I sure as hell don’t want him on my ship if he changes his mind.”

Chewie grunted an observation.

 _“Honorable?”_ Han scoffed.“Well, I guess, but—”

Chewie yowled triumphantly.

“Now, I wouldn’t go that far,” Han snapped. “I don’t _trust_ him any further than I can throw him.” He sighed. “But you’re right, I’ve never known him to go back on his word. Problem is, he’s a man of very few words. Leaves a lot of wiggle room.”

Chewie chuckled.

“Fine. You win.” Han fished his commlink out of his pocket. “Hey, Krios. You still around?”

Thane’s answer came so quickly, Han suspected he’d been expecting the call. _“I am.”_

“Meet me at Docking Bay 94. We’re shovin’ off in five.” He pitched his voice low. “I got an idea.”

_“Acknowledged. And, Captain Solo—thank you.”_

Han glared at Chewie. “If I wake up dead tomorrow, I’m never speaking to you again.”


	3. The Queen of Air and Darkness

“The Queen of Air and Darkness is a wise and spiritual woman. She will guide you on a journey of self-discovery, through the deepest, darkest parts of your soul. She bids you step out of your comfort zone and rely on intuition rather than your physical senses.”  
—Lunira, _The Sacred Jhabacc: Foretelling the Future_

* * *

With Solo and Chewbacca in the cockpit plotting a course away from Tatooine, the lounge area of the _Millennium Falcon_ ’s main cargo hold was quiet save for the hum of the ship’s engines. Thane sat at the _dejarik_ table and tried to meditate. He was on edge, tense and anxious, memories of Irikah threatening to drag him under. He needed to pull himself together. He would be of no use to Kolyat if he could not focus.

Captain Solo hadn’t elaborated on his “idea,” preferring to wait until they had left prying eyes and listening ears behind before revealing what he had in mind. Thane understood that, certainly. But until then, all he knew was that Kolyat was in danger on Tatooine—and they were leaving him behind.

He had come to trust Solo over the years. The man was bold and brave and more honest than he would likely care to admit, and Thane did not for one instant think that Solo might double-cross him. _(And yet you would double-cross him,_ he chastised himself. He pushed the thought away.) Nevertheless, icy fingers of dread wound themselves around his heart as he pictured the planet falling away behind them. Dread, and guilt.

He couldn’t help but feel as though he was abandoning his son. _Again._ None of this would have happened if he had not left home in the first place. If he had tried a little harder to make ends meet without returning to the life of an assassin. If he had been the husband and father his family deserved.

Perhaps… perhaps it would have been better if he had never met Irikah. Then he would still be serving the Hanar, blissfully ignorant of the vagaries of life outside the Compact. His life would be routine, predictable. He would have a purpose he could be proud of. And Irikah… the thought of never having known her stuck like a lump in his throat, but at least she would still be alive.  
  
But then Kolyat—the one light, the one good, beautiful thing he’d ever added to this vast, dark, uncaring galaxy—would never have been born. And he could not truly bring himself to wish for that.

He was pulled from his ruminations by the familiar lurch of the _Falcon_ ’s overpowered hyperdrive, as always just a scale’s width out of sync with the inertial compensators, launching the ship past lightspeed. Moments later, Solo came sauntering into the hold, his usual self-satisfied smirk on his face, and Chewbacca close behind. “All right, we’re under way,” Solo announced unnecessarily. “We’ll reach the Kallea Sector in a few hours.”

There was only one world in the Kallea Sector that made sense as their destination. “Terminus?” Thane raised his brow ridge as Solo dropped gracelessly onto the other end of the semicircular couch. “What’s your plan, Captain?”

Solo scoffed. _“My_ plan? This whole escapade is your idea, buddy. That’s up to you.”

“…I see,” Thane said slowly. This was good, actually. The more control he had over the mission, the easier it would be to accomplish his objective. “Then what is your business on Terminus?”

“We’re going to see a slicer, calls himself Charade,” said Solo. “He can get us a false registry for the _Falcon_. Jabba knows all the aliases I’ve used before, so we’re gonna need a new one. That way, we don’t get pounced by the rest of Jabba’s flunkies when we get back to Tatooine.”

Thane could see the wisdom in that, though the insinuation that Han saw him as just another of “Jabba’s flunkies” carried an unexpected sting. “A sound strategy, of course.”

“Glad you approve,” Solo drawled sarcastically. He half turned and took an object from the shelf behind him. “Now, Charade’s a strange one,” he said. “He doesn’t work for money, not little jobs like this. He makes his living off the really high rollers. Guys like you and me, he does this stuff for kicks. But it ain’t exactly free.” He tossed the object to Thane, who caught it easily. “We can’t buy the codes from him. We gotta win ’em.”

Thane looked down at the thick palm-sized rectangle in his hand, then back up at Solo. “Sabacc?” he asked dubiously.

Solo cocked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to play.”

“I do, but I’m afraid my skills are inadequate against an experienced player,” Thane admitted. “And I am uncomfortable putting our mission— _my_ mission—at the mercy of a game. Especially one with so high a level of chance.” He set the pack of cards on the table. “Is there no one else who can help us?”

“Sure, any halfway decent slicer could do it.” Solo folded his arms. “But Charade’s the only one I can guarantee you ain’t on Jabba’s payroll.” He picked up the box and slid the cards free, shuffling them with practiced ease. “How about a refresher? We got time—I’ll give you some pointers.”

It seemed there was little choice. Thane eyed the cards warily. “Very well. What is the variant?”

“Centran,” said Solo as he dealt them two cards each. “Do you know it?”

“It was explained to me once,” Thane replied. “As memory serves, the Legates of each suit are worth eleven, but they trump the Elevens in case of a tie. And the Fives are wild.” He shook his head. “But I haven’t played that way. To be honest, I’ve only ever seen Centran cards used for… a form of divination.”

“Divination? You mean fortune-telling?” Solo laughed out loud. “I knew you could have some funny ideas, Krios, but I never thought you’d put much stock in _that_ sort of thing.”

“I don’t,” Thane bit out, annoyed. “But a number of years ago, in the course of completing a contract, I saved the life of an elderly Ryn woman who insisted on repaying me by doing a reading.” He studied the cards he’d been dealt: the Six of Coins and the Ten of Sabres. A reasonable starting hand, perhaps, but strangely contradictory in meaning, as he recalled. “It was… unsettling,” he added softly, and then the tide of memory swept over him.

_Scent of incense in the air. Dim candlelight, the only illumination. The Ryn woman turns over the first card and lays it on the table between us, smiling. “This card represents you—or rather, how you see yourself. Here we have the Universe: an auspicious sign indeed. You are happy with your place in life. You have everything you want. You are supremely confident in yourself, your skills, and your future.”_

_I nod, surprised by the accuracy of her statements._

_She turns over another, placing it crosswise atop the first. “Your chief opponent is the Master of Coins. This is a very wealthy and powerful man. He could be a dangerous enemy. Beware.”_

_This is less impressive. Like any assassin, I would have many such enemies, if any of them knew my name. I want to laugh, but I school my expression carefully for the sake of politeness._

_A third card, placed above the others. “Your conscious motivations: the Ace of Sabres. You’re a practical man, with little tolerance for nonsense. You try to act logically. You are intelligent and discerning.” A fourth, below. “But the Four of Flasks suggests a deeply buried dissatisfaction.” She taps the Universe card. “Though you tell yourself you’re happy, in truth you grow restless, unfulfilled. Perhaps even resentful.”_

_I open my mouth to protest, then close it again, stunned. If I’m to be truly honest with myself, she is correct again. Though I’ve always put little faith in such things, the insight she appears to gain from the cards is frankly astounding. But as for what—or whom—I might be resentful of, I refuse to consider. I will not. This_ is _nonsense_ _, a series of lucky guesses, based on obscure symbols broadly interpreted._

_She is watching my reactions, and smiles, sadly and knowingly. Something in her face sends shivers up my spine. I cannot help but feel as though she stares into my very soul._

_She turns over another card, placing it to the left of the crossed ones. “The Four of Staves appears in your recent past—you’re married?” she asks. I draw a sharp breath. She cannot know this! She studies me for a moment as I struggle to maintain my composure. Her guesses are beginning to strike too close to the truth for my comfort._

_Narrowing her eyes, she adds slowly, “Not just married—you have a child!”_

_Her words hit me like a punch in the gut. “Enough!” I snap, more harshly than I intend. I stand to leave. “No more of this!” It’s perhaps unforgivably rude, but it is imperative that no one associated with my work, however peripherally, know about my family. It’s the only way I know of to keep them safe! That their anonymity might be compromised is enough to send me into a near panic._

_“Sit down, young man!” she barks, and to my own surprise, I do. I do not know what makes me obey, but I can do nothing else._

_She holds my gaze for a moment, sternly, then turns over another card, placing it to the right of the others. “The Eight of Sabres is in your future,” she says solemnly. “You will be sorely tried, to the limits of your endurance, to the very edge of despair, until you are tempted to give in. Whatever you do, you_ must not _give in.”_

_“How ominous,” I comment dryly. My patience grows short._

_She glares at me as she turns over three more cards. “The Evil One, the Satellite, and the Ten of Sabres. These are the complications you will face: in short, temptation, illusion, and betrayal. Trust no one—yourself least of all.”_

_She draws a final card from the deck, holding it face down. “The final outcome,” she intones, and despite my skepticism, a chill settles in my gut. Slowly, as if she’s dreading the revelation as much as I, she turns the card over._

_Her eyes go wide when she sees it. “The Destroyed Starship!” she gasps. “Oh, Sere Krios, I’m sorry.” She buries her face in her hands._

_The breath stills in my throat. “What does it mean?” I demand._

_She looks at me with the utmost pity in her eyes. “Catastrophe.”_

“Krios? Hey! You hearin’ me?”

“Ah.” Thane pulled himself back to the present, frills flushing hot with embarrassment at having lost himself so thoroughly in memory mid-conversation. It was a lapse of control he hadn’t committed since he was a child. “My apologies, Captain. You were saying?”

Solo rolled his eyes. “I said, ante up.”


	4. Five of Coins

"The Five of Coins reflects negatively on your finances, relationships, employment, or any or all of these. You may be headed for a financial loss, or faced with a duplicitous or unfaithful person. Worry, scarcity, and inadequacy are all indicated here. You need to prioritize ruthlessly, which may mean letting go of something that is important to you in order to achieve your greater goals."  
—Lunira, _The Sacred Jhabacc: Foretelling the Future_

* * *

It was cold, and dark, and wet.

That couldn't be right. This was Tatooine, all hot suns and dry deserts. How could it be so cold in here? And where was all this water coming from?

It puddled on the floor and seeped from the walls, soaking into his clothes. Kolyat shivered uncontrollably, long past the point of tears, hungry and thirsty and numb and _cold._ Where was Father?

He'd been here, hadn't he? There'd been some kind of commotion, he wasn't sure how long ago, and all but one of the guards had gone running. Kolyat had had a moment of wild hope that Father had come to rescue him. But then everything had gone quiet, and soon he'd heard a voice over the guard's commlink. The voice had spoken Huttese, which Kolyat didn't understand, but in the next moment, the door to his cell had crashed open. The last guard, a Gamorrean with his tusks bared in a terrifying grin, had advanced on him slowly, swinging his vibro-axe.

Though he'd tried to be brave until then, he had sobbed like a baby at that point, certain that he was going to die, just like Mother. But at the last instant, the voice had burst from the commlink again, and the guard had stopped short and shuffled reluctantly out of the cell, slamming the door behind him.

Kolyat had remained huddled in the corner ever since, too terrified to move, as the memories played over and over in his mind.

_The look on Mother's face makes me cold. It's hard not to cry, but she puts her hand over my mouth as she pushes me into the closet. "Stay in here," she says, and I can hear it in her voice—she's scared. It makes me scared, too. "Don't come out, no matter… no matter what you hear." She's crying. Oh, Gods, she's crying! "Don't move. Don't make a sound._ No matter what. _Promise me, Kolyat. Say it!"_

_I nod. I have to be strong. "I—I promise. No matter what." I don't sound strong. I can't breathe._

_She kisses my forehead, and I cling to her. "Whatever happens," she whispers, "remember that I love you!"_

"No!" Kolyat shrieked, shoving away from the wall as he tore himself out of the memory. Terror gripped him anew, ripping through his mind like an endless scream. He paced back and forth across the tiny cell, hands fisted on either side of his head. He stomped through the puddles, hearing the splash, smelling the putrid reek, letting it soak his shoes and turn his stomach. He stared hard at the ripples he made, watching the patterns that were barely visible in the dim light. He clenched his teeth until he thought they might break.

Anything to keep himself grounded in the here and now. Anything to keep _that memory_ away.

It was only when the guard outside started banging on the door that he realized the siren-like wail wasn't just in his head, but coming from his own mouth.

* * *

The skies of Terminus were filled with ships of every description. At the intersection of the Corellian Trade Spine and the Hydian Way, the planet was the largest shipping center in the Outer Rim, drawing trade from Hutt space, the Empire, even the Unknown Regions and Wild Space. It was said that no two vessels were ever the same, though Thane had long since learned that was an exaggeration. He'd taken more than one contract here over the years, and could recognize some of the strange ships and stranger people that frequented this place.

And like any other major hub, it wasn't without its seedy underbelly. It seemed Captain Solo's contact had set himself up in what had to be the most disreputable establishment within ten kilometers of the spaceport: a noisy, gaudily appointed casino called Flin's.

Just inside the doors, Solo spoke briefly with one of the bouncers, who gestured toward the back of the room with a jerk of his chin. Thane suppressed a cough as they wended their way through the crowd, the smoke of various substances irritating and making him slightly dizzy. Raucous music blared over the combined din of the games, conversations, and arguments that threatened to devolve into all-out fights. Every one of the patrons was armed, few bothering to conceal their weapons. This place was a step up from Mos Eisley—barely—and Thane stayed on high alert. Solo, too, kept his hand near his blaster, and Chewbacca growled at anyone who looked their way.

In contrast to the brightly lit gaming tables at the front of the house, the bar toward the back was cloaked in shadows. Here was where the intrigue happened, and here was where the danger lay. It was the same the galaxy over. Thane could feel the eyes on him here, evaluating him, trying to decide if he was predator or prey.

It never took them long to decide. Of course, in this case, being in the company of a surly Wookiee couldn't hurt matters, either.

Captain Solo, for his part, was doing a credible job of looking casual as he scanned the room for his contact. But it was Charade who found him first.

"Over here, Solo." The voice came from a booth set back into the shadows, and belonged to a man wearing a hood pulled up to conceal his face and shuffling a deck of cards. He spoke softly, barely audible over the din of the bar, so while his voice sounded familiar, Thane couldn't place it immediately. "Here for a game? What're we playing for tonight?"

Solo slid into the seat across from him. Thane hung back with Chewbacca, more than content to stand guard, but Solo gestured for him to sit, as well. "Charade, I want you to meet a… business partner of mine," he said, glancing at Thane before returning his gaze to the hooded figure. "This here is—"

Charade interrupted him before he could finish. "Thane Krios!" he exclaimed, altogether too loudly, and Thane winced in dismay. He had planned to use an alias in his dealings with this man; to be recognized by a stranger was… disconcerting, to say the least. But then Charade threw back his hood, and Thane found himself faced not with a stranger after all.

It had been several years since they'd last met, and in that time, the man now calling himself "Charade" had acquired a new scar on his cheek and a dramatic streak of white in his now shoulder-length black hair. He had shaved his beard, and was dressed far less flamboyantly than he had in the past, though his attire was by no means shabby. His brown eyes were bloodshot, and though he appeared coherent, he positively reeked of alcohol.

"Zandr." Thane spoke quietly, pointedly offering the courtesy Charade had not. "It has been some time."

Charade fumbled the deck, spraying cards all over the table as he waved his hands frantically. "Don't say that name!" he hissed, glancing uneasily around the crowded room. "You tryin' to get me killed? I hadda burn that handle years ago."

"Of course," Thane replied evenly. "My apologies."

Solo leaned forward, looking from Thane to Charade and back with a raised eyebrow. "You two know each other?" he demanded.

"Indeed." Thane kept his gaze fixed on Charade, who fidgeted uncomfortably. "Captain Solo, might I have a word?"

"Uh… sure." Solo caught Chewbacca's eyes and nodded once. The Wookiee folded his hairy arms and took a step closer to the table, effectively blocking Charade in as Thane and Solo drew back out of earshot. "What's the problem, Krios?"

Thane glanced back at Charade, to see him grinning uneasily up at Chewbacca as he gathered up the scattered cards. "He cannot be trusted."

"No kidding," Solo snorted, shaking his head. "Tell me something I don't know. But unless you got any better ideas…?"

"I still have contacts within the Illuminated Primacy," Thane suggested. "Spies and saboteurs working for the Compact, all accomplished slicers. They would be more than capable of seeing to our needs, with no connection whatsoever to the Hutt cartels."

"Kahje's on the other side of the galaxy. You think Jabba's gonna wait while we fly all the way to Hanar space and back?" Solo demanded. "You're kidding yourself, buddy. There ain't time for that." He sighed. "Look, I don't like it, either, but this is the best chance we've got."

Thane gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. _Arashu, preserve us._ "Very well. I hope you know what you're doing, Captain."

"Hey, it's me." Solo flashed him a toothy grin. "I got this." Returning to their table, he said, "Ease up, Chewie, he's not goin' anywhere. Right, Charade?"

Charade gave a nervous chuckle as Chewbacca reluctantly stepped back with a growl. "Yeah, no, I got nowhere else to be. We good?"

"'Course we are," Solo reassured him, all fake friendliness. "Right, Krios?"

Thane nodded curtly. "We will play your game, Charade. Time is too short, and my mission too urgent, to allow our… _history_ to become a problem."

Eyes wide, Charade shook his head. "No, not a problem."

"Great," said Solo. Thane hoped that would be the end of it, but Han was too curious. "So, how'd you guys meet, anyway?"

"I hired Thane to do a job for me a ways back," Charade began before Thane could deflect the question. "It was, what, two years ago? Three?"

"Six," said Thane dryly. Perhaps the man was more intoxicated than he'd initially appeared.

"That long, huh? Shit." Charade shook his head, grinning sheepishly. "It kinda runs together some. Anyway, there was this guy, Elvidar Thisprie, real high roller, big-time sabacc player. Only guy in the sector who could beat me. 'Cept he couldn't, really—he was a cheat. Swindled me outta more money than I wanna think about before I caught on. But when I called him on it, he tried to threaten me. Threatened my mother." He bared his teeth in a grimace. "Who does that? Go after a guy's mother? So I swore I'd get rid of him before he could touch her. Couldn't do it m'self, of course, so I hired the best."

"However, he failed to inform me at the time that _Commander_ Thisprie was an officer of the Imperial Navy," Thane interrupted. "An omission that altered the parameters of the assignment rather dramatically." He fixed Charade with a stare that had the satisfying effect of making him swallow hard and shrink back in his seat a little. Good. Solo didn't need to know all the sordid details of that particular story. "I trust that, should we win tonight's wager, the information you provide will be more complete?"

Charade blinked in surprise at being so abruptly cut off, but Thane soon had the uneasy impression he knew exactly why he'd done so. Regaining some of his bravado, he answered with a toothy grin as he straightened and dealt them each two cards. "Depends on the game, don't it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The _history_ between Thane and Charade will be explored in all its sordid details in the prequel to this fic, "Chance and Hazard"!


End file.
